


The Penthouse

by areyouserial



Series: The Penthouse [1]
Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14029206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouserial/pseuds/areyouserial
Summary: The last time Jamie Reagan saw Noble Sanfino was with a hostile glare as Noble was ushered away by the NYPD into witness protection. So imagine Jamie's surprise when, a year later, he comes face to face with the man he thought was out of his life for good, and receives an awfully tempting invitation.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Initially the content warnings are for language. Sexual situations ensue as this story progresses, but it's a slow burn.

_“All units. We’ve received a report of a 10-50, disorderly persons, excessive noise located at three-seven-seven Greenwich Avenue at the corner of North Moore.“_

“You know I can’t turn down an excessive noise complaint.” Vinny grins from the passenger seat of our RMP as I cut the cruiser right at the next block.

“Twelve-George. Show us responding,” I offer into the radio hooked on my shoulder, then glance over at my partner with an amused smirk. “It’s never the kind of excessive noise you hope it’s going to be, man.”

“You never know. That’s that swanky hotel in Tribeca,” Vinny reasons. “It could be a bunch of tipsy supermodels partying a little too hard.”

“Yeah, and it’s probably a bunch of idiot fratboys on their parents’ drugs, so get ready to break up some pansy ass fist fights, partner.” I chuckle to myself as I rush the car to the corner and brake at the curb.

“Come on, Reagan,” he laughs. “Try to be more optimistic.”

I’m in fairly good spirits on an easy, late summer night as I exit the cruiser and swing the door shut. Fitting my cap back on my head, I make my way into the Greenwich Hotel with Vinny.

Inside the quiet and posh lobby, a woman behind the front desk stands whispering with an older man who calls us over.

“Adrienne will show you to the pool,” he explains. “We don’t like to draw attention to these sorts of things. So if you could, be discreet about dispersing this crowd.”

“Please lead the way.” Vinny grins at the woman behind the desk and I’m not sure what he’s more enthusiastic about, the deep plunging neckline of her fitted suit jacket with what seems to be nothing underneath it, or the fact that the excessive noise we’re headed to is a pool party.

As she makes her way around the desk, she offers my partner a curvy smirk before she starts across the lobby and he graciously follows behind. 

After a maze of hallways, we’re led to what looks like a private retreat at the basement floor of the hotel. The echo of screams bounces off the water and we can hear the shouting and the shrieks of laughter from around the corner.

The woman stops there, and gestures to the large glass entrance surrounding the indoor pool. She offers nothing but a smile before she dutifully turns away on her high heels.

I tug open the door and I’m greeted by the sound of a bottle shattering somewhere and the roar of party guests who’ve abandoned any regard for the other people staying here.

“Cut the music!” I shout, calling back to Vinny.

The entire scene is just a lavish pool party with too many people, too fucked up, and not at all fazed that two NYPD police officers just walked in.

Once Vinny finds the source of the music and shuts it off, half the guests in the pool notice and begin to glance around with shouted protests.

“Everybody out of the pool,” I announce, swiping my fingers across my neck in a cut gesture. “Party’s over.”

Vinny makes his way around the perimeter of the pool with the same announcement and gradually, the inebriated party goers begin to push themselves out of the water.

“Who sent the strippers?” A young, brunette calls out from her perch on the edge of the pool where she dangles her feet in the water, then claps her hands as Vinny and I approach. “Yay!” Lazily, she tips her head back to glance up at us. “You guys are hot. I don’t have any dollar bills, but I have some really good stuff I’m willing to share–”

“Whitney–” her more perceptive friend speaks up from the pool as she makes her way to the edge. “She didn’t mean that, officers,” she attempts.

“Look–” I start. “You can all get the hell out, or we can arrest you for trespassing.”

“Hey man!” One of the guys complains. “We’re guests here. Nobody’s trespassing.”

“Most of you are,” Vinny tells him. “And unless you’re looking for charges filed, you need to put some clothes on and take it home, now.”

“You guys are really cute,” the same girl – Whitney, apparently – who thought we were strippers laughs as she reaches out a limp arm. I grasp it and help her to her feet. “But my dad owns this hotel, so nice try with all this.”

“I don’t really care, miss,” I tell her.

She scoffs an offended squeak, stumbling off her balance.

She tips into me in her black bikini and I steady her, grasping her wet upper arms. “The party’s done. I suggest you go back to your room if you’re staying here–”

“Booo–” she jeers, tilting her chin up against my chest where she reaches up to swipe a finger across my badge. “Officer Reagan,” she sings.

With a huff, I have to cut my gaze to the shimmering ceiling before I easily grip her around her wrist.

“Oh my–” An exaggerated sigh edges out of her mischievous smile as I urge her arm away. “You can be rough with me. I won’t complain.”

“Ma’am–” Vinny breaks in. “It’s not going to be so cute when we call additional units to this location to conduct a search and take you all in when we find what kinda party favors are stashed around here–”

She smirks. “You can’t do that–”

“Hey–hey–hey, beautiful–” A voice speaks up from behind my back, amid the crowd of guests scurrying to collect their things. The clear, rogue note of it pricks my chest in this unfamiliar way and I hesitate before turning around. “Let’s take it upstairs, Whit. Come on.”

He gestures for her to come closer before acknowledging me with a cursory glance. “Sorry Off–” Then his apology trails away when his gaze quickly flicks to meet mine once more.

A flash of recognition and something else rouses in his eyes. His never really left my memory, deep green with this golden glow that could change so easily, on a dime, from friendly to dangerous, but always charming. It’s been almost a year, and I haven’t forgotten.

Fuck me.

It’s Noble Sanfino.


	2. Chapter 2

His lips part with faded words and I know I can’t mask the dumbfounded look on my face.

“Grab a towel, alright sweetie?” Noble instructs the brunette, easing her past and she shuffles away.

I try to suck in a breath, covertly flicking a look over my shoulder to see Vinny back up and gather more of the crowd.

“Now there’s a face I haven’t forgotten,” he quips in this low murmur that sends a rush of heat up my neck.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Noble sniffs a soft laugh, slanting that con-man, curvy smile at me as he dangles a near-empty rocks glass between his fingers. “Having a party.”

I watch him tilt the glass to his lips, finishing off his drink as he looks at me.

I don’t want to react but it takes all of half a second for the anger to swirl in my insides and I feel it rise behind my eyes. I glance away cautiously before managing a hard swallow as I step closer to him. “What happened to Miami? You’re supposed to be in Florida.”

He shrugs. “I am sometimes.” He stands over me, in a faded, well-worn denim shirt, unbuttoned, his broad chest slick from the pool, along with deep olive swim trunks. It’s a striking contrast from the expensive Italian suits I had always seen him wear. That, or his leather jacket left bloodied from a bullet in his shoulder that was meant for his head.

“But I came back to get a decent slice of pizza,” he tells me. “Plus it’s too sunny there. Not really my thing.”

“Well maybe staying alive should be your thing,” I reason.

He merely returns my look with a quick jump at his cheek before his gaze blatantly dips along the front of me. “I still have a hard time believing all this.” Then he loosely gestures his glass to my uniform, the badge at my chest.

“Thought you said you could always make a cop.”

With a slight nod, he tastes his bottom lip. “Guess you snuck up on me.”

The stifling air from the pool and the bodies and late August heat is about to consume me and I will myself to glance away. I can’t help but cough out a breathy laugh. “Get yourself on a plane and get out of here, Noble.”

“Let’s hang out.”

I look up at him. “We’re not friends.”

“I didn’t say we were.”

_Fuck_. Looking at him makes my stomach hurt, made this weight sink through my chest.

Before I can respond to that, he holds out a plastic card between two fingers. “The Moore Penthouse. Come over tomorrow.”

I glance down at his hand and feel the tug of confusion between my eyebrows. “Why?”

With a thoughtful inhale, he glances up and considers it. “Step Nine. Right?”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing we need to amend. It’s done.”

“Alright fine, then I make a pretty unbelievable pasta and you should come over.”

The twitch at his nose when he says it has some kind of effect on me and I fixate on the dull throbbing ache of my pulse.

“Reagan!” Vinny calls from the other side of the pool and the sudden shift of my senses steals my breath.

I glance up to see Vinny tilt his head to signal for me. Swiping a nervous hand across my jaw, I reach down and tactfully slip the card from Noble’s fingers into my palm without a word and make my way past him.


	3. Chapter 3

“I am not even mad, Reagan,” Vinny laughs, tilting back against the headrest as we navigate our way out of Tribeca. “I’m relieved we didn’t have to bring any of them in because they’d just call their daddy’s lawyers anyway. But did you see that one girl in the red bikini?” Then he whistles with a nod as he glances out the window. “She looked like a bad girl, you feel me?”

I blink as my fists tighten on the steering wheel. No I don’t remember whoever he was talking about. I can’t seem to tear my thoughts away from the man whose dangerous world I got so caught up in last year, it almost got me killed.

The fact that he was just  _there_ , it was like seeing a ghost. Noble Sanfino was supposed to have disappeared. Relocated, a new name, a new life.

But standing in front of me, it was like whatever it was we had was never erased. And it still hangs there like this… story with another chapter.

And why was the image that was seared into my mind not some giggly girl in a bikini, but this guy, whose entire relationship, entire friendship with me was based on a lie?

I couldn’t shake the way he looked at me, the heat of deep hazel eyes gleaming with something risky that hooked me for a beat too long. Until suddenly I find myself wanting to indulge whatever that something was.

* * *

The next evening, the rectangular key with its look of brown teak wood sits there on my coffee table.

After an uneventful tour where I managed to halfway focus, I went to the gym, hoping to dissolve whatever tightly wound knots had woven themselves deep in my core, but five miles on the treadmill didn’t make a difference.

I showered, went straight home, and now can’t bring myself to do anything else but stare at this ambiguous invitation from where I sit on the couch.

A decision this bad should be the simplest no for me. Noble Sanfino’s family tried to kill me last year. I – a grown man – literally had to hide out in my dad’s house until the threat was over and his inner mob circle was dismantled, arrested for conspiracy to commit murder. Add to that the dozen other charges after Noble had agreed to testify against them, and it’d be a long time before any of them ever saw the light of day.

But that’s not to say that I’m in the clear. I don’t know if I’ll ever be. And showing up at Noble’s place when – in some stray cohort – there’s likely a price still on his head would be like walking into the lion’s den. It could be a setup.

It didn’t feel like that, though. I’m not sure what prompted him to invite me over, to offer me his room key after talking to me all of thirty seconds. But there’s always been something… immediate about the way my instincts reacted to him.

I’d carry my nine-millimeter.

Chewing the inside of my cheek, I ponder that attempt at reason. I’d change into jeans and a different t-shirt–  _shit_ , this is idiotic.

I push myself off the couch and head to my bedroom. At the closet, I tug a pale blue Oxford shirt from its hanger and slip my arms into it.

Catching my reflection in the mirror in the corner, I fidget with the collar before I yank the shirt off once more. I trade my shorts for a pair of jeans, hop into them and pause again in front of the mirror.

I reach up and draw my t-shirt off, consider my reflection as I swing my arms back and forth across my chest.

It’s like I’m giving myself endless opportunities to stall, to change my mind.

But I can’t stop thinking about going over there.

And I can’t even face asking myself why I’m nervous about what I wear. I’m not undercover anymore. Keeping up appearances as this fictional person I created is no longer necessary. It’s just me. And it’s fucking terrifying.

I stretch my shoulders back with a deep inhale, run my hand up and down my stomach before laying a firm smack there and turn back to the closet.

I decide on a dark, charcoal button-up, quickly fold the cuffs a few times and push them up my forearms. I don’t even bother to glance in the mirror because this isn’t something I need to dwell on.

My old Adidas Dragons, my off duty piece at my hip, wallet, phone, and keys. I head into the living room, snatch the penthouse key off the table and make my way to the door.


	4. Chapter 4

This entire hotel feels like another world, another time. Like this old Hollywood vibe in the private booths of the downstairs lounge combined with something sort of European in its simplicity. Either way, it was easy to feel like I was in some other life here in the building where Noble apparently resides, at least temporarily.

When the elevators open on the sixth floor, there’s just one short hallway and one door, the Moore Penthouse the floor’s sole residence. I had to use the keycard to get the right elevator, the one that goes to the top floor. But I don’t use it at his door.

After I knock, my heart thuds inside my chest. I glance over my shoulder as I wait. What I’m anticipating, I have no idea.

The door falling away redirects my attention.

Noble stands there in the open space. He’s taller than I am. Not by much, but he has this solid presence about him.

“Hey, stranger,” he greets me.

I open my mouth to respond but I’m not quite sure how.

“No seriously, I don’t know your name.” The friendly note in his voice prompts a breathy laugh and he flicks his head. “Come in.”

“I don’t know if that’s so smart,” I tell him. But I’m standing here at his penthouse so what the hell am I doing? “Who’s here?”

He smiles with a faint shake of his head. “Just me, man.”

Steeling my jaw, I set this look on him, compelling him to level with me.

With a step back, he innocently lifts his hands. “I swear.”

“You have any weapons on you?”

“ _On_ me?” He glances down at himself. “No.”

My gaze flicks lower, over the simple black polo shirt he wears with a pair of jeans.

He obliges my concern, quickly lifting up the hem of his shirt to reveal the waist of his pants, the faint outline of his abdominals before it disappears, lower. Then he holds his hands up again.

I can tell from a glance down his legs that nothing is in his pockets, and likely nothing at his ankles considering he’s not wearing any shoes.

“Trust me, I’m defenseless,” he remarks, then slowly turns to show me his back before he faces me again, resting hands loosely on his hips. “What about you? You wearing a wire? I mean, how paranoid do we need to be? I just want to eat some damn dinner.”

I chuckle softly. “No, I’m not wearing a wire.”

“You have a gun?”

“I’m an off duty police officer.”

“Named….” he attempts with a slight turn of his head as he narrows his gaze.

I feel the twitch of a smile at my lips as I step into the doorway. “Jamie.”

Noble doesn’t move as I approach. He considers this information with a curt nod of acceptance. “Jamie.”

It felt better to hear my real name from him.

“So you gonna come in?” He shrugs. “Or do you need a blood sample or what?”

Moving past him, I glance down scratching fingers at the back of my head. “I’ll take a tour, if you’re offering.”

“You still don’t trust me.” He closes the door and trails behind me.

“Well for one, no,” I tell him. “I don’t quite trust you yet. And two, this place is like eight grand a night, man. I need to check it out.”

“Ah, I know people.”

“I bet you do,” I murmur, gazing up into the expansive living space as we make our way further inside. “Damn, Noble.” A huge grid of windows slants over the dimly lit living room, showing off his downtown Manhattan views. Brown leather couches and exposed brick, it almost feels like my apartment only about a hundred times the square footage. But it’s got a home-like feel to it.

Open to the living room is the kitchen, warm with wood beams and concrete countertops. The start of dinner sits there and I appreciate the fact that the space seems used, as if Noble actually lives here and isn’t merely sustained by room service and restaurants.

“You hungry? He wonders. “Could you eat?”

Finally managing a relaxing breath, I nod. “Yeah, definitely.”

“I’ll get dinner going in a minute. I didn’t want to start it if you weren’t going to show.” Then he turns to point across the room. “Kitchen. Dining room. Living room,” he explains. “Balcony out there. It’s pretty sweet.” He leads me through the penthouse and I take my time, looking for signs of anyone else here. “Back this way, two bedrooms.”

He motions to the end of one hall and I take the cue to look inside. What seems to be the master bedroom is there. The large bed made, the closet open where some shirts hang, a TV. All pretty standard.

“I flushed all my cocaine,” he informs me. “In case you really did show up.”

I let out a quiet laugh and turn back to look at him. “I really did show up.”

“So that was a good move on my part. Bathroom in there,” he announces, then shifts around me. “Then another room on this end, same deal.”

I don’t take any chances, stepping over to slide open the pocket French doors. Inside, I give the other bedroom a once-over. It doesn’t seem like it’s been occupied, an untouched desk, a pristine bed.

I glance back out into the hall and gesture a finger to the closet door.

Noble crosses his arms over his chest and cocks an amused eyebrow. “Be my guest.”

I flick the handle at the closet, lean in and cautiously peer inside to find it empty aside from spare linens. I have to sniff a soft laugh and with a nod, simply close the door once more.

“I assure you, no one else is here,” he reminds me.

“Not even that girl from last night, still passed out somewhere?”

“What girl?”

Sliding my fingertips in the pockets of my jeans, I make my way out of the room. “The girl you took upstairs after we busted up your little party.”

Noble’s gaze briefly flicks away as he recalls the memory. “Oh Whitney? No, I didn’t bring her up here.”

I nod. I was kidding when I asked, but find myself strangely pleased that he was presumably alone here last night.

“She liked  _you_ though.” He slants a smile my way before he fakes a punch to my gut, then steers us back to the main part of the apartment. “You can’t blame her. You look pretty damn cute in that uniform.” He makes this easy statement with a firm clap on my back before he passes ahead and leads the way to the kitchen.

The remark draws my brows together, catching me off guard. I don’t miss the way it made my stomach flip, though. “Yeah well.” I clear my throat. “Barely conscious isn’t really my type.”

He laughs. “A man of discerning taste. That’s good. Speaking of taste, you like Sangiovese?”

My forehead creases as I approach his kitchen counter. “I’m not sure what that is.”

Rounding the counter on the other side, he sets two wine glasses between us then slides a dark black bottle closer. “You drink red?”

I consider the corkscrew in his hand with a slight nod. “I’m Catholic, so. Yes.”

“For this dish, Sangiovese is perfect,” he explains, fitting the screw inside the cork before he grips the handle, twisting his wrist. “It won’t overwhelm the flavors like a pinot noir would.”

A smirk curves on my lips as I watch him. “I trust you.”

“Oh.” He grins. “You trust me now.”

“With wine recommendations only,” I tease.

A distinct  _pop_ sounds as he deftly tugs out the cork and he arches his brow at me to affirm. “Sangiovese?”

“Sure.” I nod. “That.”

“Say it.”

“I can’t,” I laugh.

“ _Zanjo_ –”

My cheek scrunches as I attempt to echo him. “Sanjo–”

“ _Veysey_ ,” he finishes.

“Veyzay.”

He chuckles to himself as he peers down to tip the bottle over the glasses. “Perfetto.”

“You make it sound better than I do.”

A slight tilt at the corner of his lips charms me as he lifts his gaze while he pours. “So. A good Catholic huh?” He sets the bottle down, his eyes narrowing critically as he passes one glass across the counter to me.

“Thank you.” With a tilt of my head, I consider his question. “And I don’t know about  _good_. Cheers.”

He meets my glass with his and my pulse throbs hot in my center when I catch the way his eyebrow flicks when he looks at me. “Cheers.”


	5. Chapter 5

“So I have to ask–” After being instructed by Noble to pull up a seat at the counter, there wasn’t much left for me to do but watch him cook from my perch on one of his barstools.

And, really, it was a view I didn’t exactly mind. He navigates the kitchen like it’s second nature to him, an easy flow to his work while he talks to me. 

I finish my question. “What are you doing having parties in the city after everything that went down?”

Tilting his head side to side as if that isn’t exactly what happened, Noble flicks the dish towel from his shoulder and dries his hands. “Only about half of it was my party,” he reasons, then turns to the refrigerator. “I didn’t really know those people.”

“But still.”

“Trust me, the guys who had it out for me run in a completely different circle. And they definitely wouldn’t find me downtown with… you know, Parsons drop-outs or whoever it was who couldn’t be cool and got the cops called on us.”

I have to laugh as I lift my glass. “Damn cops, huh?”

A smile curves on his cheek as he stirs the sauce in the pan in front of him. “Generally, yes. But ah… I’m kinda glad you guys shut that one down.”

My gaze lowers, stalling on the thick column of his forearm as he reaches across and twists a salt grinder in his hand. And before I can acknowledge that I genuinely wasn’t listening just then, I tip my glass to my mouth a finish off the last sip of spicy red wine, swallowing hard. “I remember you saying cops make you tense.”

“Well sure.”

“Do I make you tense?”

He looks up, pausing a moment before he reaches for his wooden spoon. “No.”

Tasting my lower lip, I savor the tingly heat that’s there. “Good.”

“Maybe I still think of you as just a regular guy, who sucked at day trading and tried to hook up with my sister.”

“Oh!” My brow furrows in amused, phony outrage.

“Ha.” Noble’s smile stretches across his face as he stirs a few times then turns to the other end of the counter.

Sliding my wine glass closer to him by the stem, I tap the bottom. “Alright, I need one more if that’s how it’s gonna be.”

“Nice huh?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“And I’m kidding.” He grasps the bottle, uncorks it once more and reaches over to refill my glass. “You don’t make me tense because… I don’t know. You have a way about you,” he explains. He returns to a small glass dish of spices that he pinches onto his hand. He looks down and digs the heel of the other into the crushed red pepper in his palm before he drops it into the sauce simmering on the stovetop.

I lean forward on my elbow, then run a hand over my jaw, deciding not to press him about what that  _way_ was. “You know nothing happened between your sister and me, right?”

He makes a face and he brushes his palms together. “I don’t want to know, man.”

“I’m just saying,” I laugh.

“Well… that was probably a smart decision on your part.”

“Yeah, I have one of those every now and then.”

He just looks at me as he shifts his weight against the counter and reaches for his wine glass. “So how much of Jimmy Riordan was real?”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, pausing for a deep swallow of his wine. “The conversations we had, the stuff you told me.”

“I tried to be… you know. Forgettable.”

Noble hums this soft note.

“The job was to obtain the evidence and get out. But. I kind of screwed that up in the end.”

“How so?”

I tip my glass once more. I let the warmth of another sip swirl in my chest and hope it keeps me from admitting that I never exactly got out. That I fucked up and got attached to probably the most dangerous friend I could have made. That I agonized over whether his family would find him, the damage that I caused.

It was stupid.

Noble’s actions, his choices… he brought all that on himself. Gangster justice, my brother had called it, came for him. If that bullet had found its target, it would have just been collateral damage. The NYPD had its eye on a bigger cause.

“It’s my own damn fault for seeing the best in people, I guess.”

Noble pauses, blinks down for a moment, the holds his glass out to me. Wordlessly, I tap the rim of mine out to his once more in another informal toast.

“So Jamie–” He starts.

“Mm-hm.”

“Reagan?”

I nod.

“With the NYPD.”

“True.”

He moves to check his boiling ziti while he seems to ponder this. “Catholic. From Bay Ridge.”

Amused, I sit back a little. “Yep.”

“Who sees the best in people.”

“Guess so. You piecing me together now?”

He points. “Who likes red wine.”

“Occasionally.”

Then his head tilts. “And red-haired sisters–”

I hiss and soft laugh. “Stop. That was Jimmy.”

“Ah, I see. Part of the cover.”

“Yep.”

“What else?”

“No.” I press my lips together. “That’s good for now. My turn.”

“Yeah? Shoot.”

“Where’d you learn to cook?”

He glances down to lift a slotted spoon from the boiling water, then picks up one ziti before he pops it in his mouth. “My mom.”

I think about his family, his dad, his uncle. One-time Captains in a pretty infamous crime family. And here I was, sitting with one of their sons, groomed to carry on their mafia legacy, but instead is standing in his kitchen making me dinner.

All of the people who raised him are in prison but I’d never heard anything about his mother.

“She died when I was twelve,” he says.

I blink, letting a quiet beat pass. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“But she was always in the kitchen, feeding the family. And I liked helping,” he tells me. “It’s therapeutic for me. Especially cooking for other people, so–”

“How about your restaurant? Out on Long Island?”

“I had to give it up. When l… you know.” A pause lingers there as he takes another drink. “After everything.”

“Yeah.”

“I was  _advised_ not to attempt the same gig down in Miami. Opening a restaurant isn’t under the radar enough, I guess. It sucks that I don’t get to do that anymore. So, needless to say, I’m glad you’re here.” Then he reaches for a spoon on the counter, dips it in the sauce and tastes. He considers it for a moment, before he gestures to me and heads for the sink where he drops the spoon.  “You’re good for my soul, Jamie.”

I have to laugh. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

Noble nods, pushing away from the counter where he moves to turn off the stove. “Alright. You ready to eat?”

“I am. I feel like I need to help. Like, set the table or something.”

He chuckles, quickly reaching into an overhead cabinet to pull down some plates. “We’re eating right there.” He nods to the countertop. “You’re one of those people who has to have a job, huh?”

“I have to help.” Bringing the glass to my mouth, I murmur over the rim, “My hands get antsy.”

“You need to learn to just sit there and receive.”

I nearly choke.

“I’m being generous,” he adds with a laugh, and that curvy grin on his face is killing me. If I think too hard about just how  _giving_ he is, I’ll find trouble real quick.

After managing to get the wine down in a hard gulp, I cough once, and slide off the chair to my feet. “You know what?” I mutter, reaching across the counter for the near-empty bottle of wine. “I’m gonna get drunk at your house, I don’t give a fuck.”

This makes Noble crack up even more.

I refill my glass, tipping the bottle until it’s empty, then set it down where it’s skates a little across the counter. “I hope you have more of this.”

“Take your antsy hands.” He points over his shoulder. “And get some silverware from the drawer. There’s a job for you. Damn.”

I point back as I make my way behind the counter with him. “Quit starting shit.”

He reaches to his shoulder where he swiftly yanks the dish towel there and snaps it against my chest. My reflexes haven’t slowed and I close my fist around the end of it, then lean down and check him in the side with my elbow.

“Don’t burn dinner, man,” I tease him, backing away to the silverware drawer.

“Get out of my kitchen.”

I bite back a smile as I pluck dinner forks and knives from the drawer and then slide it shut. “I’m making myself useful.”

“Shit.” Noble hisses the word and he shakes his head and moves to plate the ziti. And as I trail back to our chairs, it doesn’t go unnoticed the way we happen to catch the other’s gaze, provoked by something elusive I can’t quite grasp.

And I have to wonder if maybe it’s not just me.


	6. Chapter 6

“You smoke?” Noble flicks his open pack of Camels until the end of one jumps out.

I glance his way and shake my head. “No.”

He draws the cigarette out and props it between his lips. “Me neither,” he mumbles.

He was right about the balcony. It feels perfect outside where we sit after easily the best pasta I’d ever had. The hot summer air had found relief once the sun went down. And now the city night surrounds us, six floors above a hidden corner of Tribeca.

I watch as he flicks a flame alive with a plastic lighter and leans into it, sufficiently singeing the end of his smoke. Then he drops his lighter on the table in front of us.

“So have you stayed clean down in Florida?” I shift in my chair and clasping my fingers, raise my arms to rest them on my head.

He exhales a slow steady stream of smoke and looks over at me. “I feel like tonight is about honesty.”

“Maybe a little.”

“So not entirely,” he answers. “But. I haven’t had any more close calls. It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

That protective impulse I have for him flaring in my chest, it disappoints me to know he still uses.

“I was given this…  _mandate_ ,” he continues, “to start over. And it’s like, I never wanted to. When everything you know disappears, you’ll grasp for any piece of your former self. In Miami I just… feel like I’m drifting. No anchor.”

“What do you do down there? Who are you?”

The corner of his lips twitch as he closes them around the end of his cigarette, humming a soft laugh. “Im Nick Salcedo and I work for a landscaping company.”

My mouth opens, amused and I can feel the way my eyes light up. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.

“So you like… plant things–”

“I plant things.” He nods. “I cut things down. I get dirty.”

The mental image keeps the smile slanted across my face. “Wow,” I manage, reaching for my wine glass. “How’s that?”

He shrugs. “I hated it at first. But, it’s work.”

“Keeps you humble.”

“Keeps me with a good tan.” Glancing down, he twists his own forearm and I can’t argue with that.

“Alright, maybe not humble.”

He laughs, reaching for the bottle, the second we’ve opened tonight, and refills his glass.

“Nick Salcedo,” I wonder aloud, chuckling to myself. “I’d be pretty bummed if I had a name like Noble Sanfino and I didn’t get to use it.” I tip my glass and another sip of wine warms my throat before I exhale a hot breath. “It’s a pretty dope name.”

Noble sputters an unsuspecting laugh. “ _You_ can call me by my pretty dope name.”

“I will. Except when I need you to come water my plants, I’ll call Nick.”

Cheeks hollowing with a thoughtful drag from his smoke, he reaches out to jab his fist against my shoulder. “Shut up.”

“But seriously, you realize you being here could get you in major trouble.”

He looks at me, his hand holding the cigarette lingering close to his mouth where he lightly scratches his thumb across his lower lip. “Yeah, it’s definitely getting me in some trouble,” he murmurs.

My heart thuds. My face feels so damn hot. But my head is heavy from intoxicated buzz, too cloudy to reason with myself. So instead, what surfaces is the unmistakable pull I feel for him and I slink down in my chair, resting my head back. “Me too.”

“I thought I lost everyone in New York. How am I supposed to go back now?”

“Believe me, I wish that wasn’t your reality.”

He tips his head back, resting his cigarette between his lips before he mutters up to the sky, “Because you’re kind of a fucking dreamboat.”

A smile plays at my lips and I have to let out a lazy chuckle. “Yeah?”

He laughs to himself, sipping a quick drag from his cigarette before he lowers his hand. Then I watch him close his eyes, groaning his weary complaint, “Fuck me.”

I manage a deep inhale of fresh air but it doesn’t clear away the dizzy feeling behind my eyes. I close them to ease the sensation. “You know that song? That’s like, the magnet of truth?”

“What?”

“No–” I start again, squeezing one eye shut while I attempt to think. “The song about… like, your soul finding the truth.”

“I don’t know but it sounds really shitty.”

“You know!” I insist. And then I just mumble in some vague sing-song until Noble cracks up into his glass of wine. I hum a few more random notes before snapping my fingers once. “ _Constant Craving_.”

“No. Sing more of it.”

A drunk laugh sputters in my throat and I reach over where I rest a hand on his head. “Shut up.” My fingertips dig into his thick wavy hair before I grasp it gently.

Barely a rasp of a sigh escapes him and I don’t miss it. It feels good, my hand in his hair and with grazing fingers, I let it settle there while I keep rambling.

“My point is maybe you’re supposed to like, you know, find out who you really are down there. Maybe you’re being… led to your truth.”

He lets out an even breath and furrows his brow. “Find out who I am in a life that’s not mine.”

“Your life here wasn’t yours,” I reason. “You were trapped. You can make your life what you want now. But you’ve got to play by the rules.”

“Play by the rules. And stay away from New York, you mean,” he murmurs before adding, “You know that feels really fucking good, by the way.”

I swallow hard, not knowing what to do with this conflicted tug in my chest as if suddenly the idea of him leaving New York has some effect on me. “Yeah,” I sigh, my touch combing absently back and forth. “I mean, if you want to break the rules and come back just to get me drunk and make food for me to eat, then that would be an exception.”

He points. “I didn’t get you drunk.” 

“I got myself drunk.” I left my hand fall away from his head and pick up my glass to finish off what’s inside.

“I’d be pretty content living that life.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like a bad deal.”

“But I guess there’s people here who want me dead, so–”

I set my glass down and run a hand over my tingling face, willing some sensation there. “I’ll kick their ass if they try.”

Noble’s cheek tugs up with a smirk as he shifts to crush his cigarette out in the ceramic dish on the table. “You’re so wasted. I can’t take you anywhere.”

“That wine fucked me up, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Go to bed, dude. Take the extra room.”

I consider it. And while I want to sit with him and listen to him talk all night, I’m about ten seconds away from passing out on the nearest surface. The idea of enduring a cab ride to Brooklyn sounds impossible.

“Sweet,” is all I manage before I ease back and feel my heavy eyes shut.


	7. Chapter 7

“Holy shit,” I mumble into the pillow beneath my face.

The sound of a garbage truck backing up outside pounds in my temples like this relentless horrible demon noise that might possibly make my head explode.

It takes considerable effort to even open my eyes. When I do, I focus on the sliver of light between the heavy closed drapes at the window – some window I don’t recognize. The way the bed faces, the feel of the sheets, the faint airy breeze from the ceiling fan – it’s all unfamiliar.

Noble. I crashed at Noble’s penthouse last night –  _shit._

Sucking in a breath, I shift quickly to survey the other side of the bed. It’s still mostly made, the covers barely pulled back. It was just me in here.

Closing my eyes, I attempt to piece together the night before. The moments just sort of fade in and out of my brain. Considering my miserable head, the bed feels incredible. I want so badly to just roll over and go back to sleep but I’m too disoriented about what time it is.

Eventually, I ease myself up. Glancing down in foggy confusion, I see I’m in my white t-shirt and boxers from the night before. 

My curiosity about Noble’s current state is what draws me out of bed. With dead tired limbs and a pounding head, I slowly make my way out from the covers and head to the bathroom.

Afterward, and feeling somewhat alive, I stop back in the room and pull on my jeans before making my way out into the apartment.

The kitchen mess from the night before remains. Empty wine bottles and glasses on the counter, dishes and pans in the sink. With the room so quiet, it takes me a moment to find Noble. 

Through the window across the way, I spot him out on the balcony. Lazily scratching the back of my head, I join him out the open door. He sits in the same chair from last night, in loose dark sweats and a soft grey t-shirt. But it’s the black-framed glasses on his face that sort of destroy me.

“Hey.” A smile tilts across his lips when he notices me and sets a folded newspaper on the table. “He lives.”

I laugh softly and take a seat in the other chair. “Hey.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m making it.” Although really I feel like my head is about to fall off but don’t want to acknowledge that a bottle of wine messed me up that bad.

“You want some coffee?” He nods to the table where a tray sits with a French press, an extra mug, cream and a glass dish of sugar. “Room service brought that, but I can order you whatever.”

“Yeah, no this is perfect.” I sit up and reach for the mug, pouring myself a therapeutic cup. “So… thanks for letting me crash,” I tell him.

“Of course.”

“I don’t even remember getting in bed. Did I like… I kept it pretty together last night, right?”

Dragging his teeth across his lip, a smile breaks there and he laughs at me. 

“I didn’t puke off your balcony or anything did I?”

“No.” Amused, he shakes his head, reaching for his coffee mug. “You didn’t puke off the balcony.”

“Alright, good.”

“I mean, we made out for a while last night, but I figure you remember that.”

My hand stalls as I lift my coffee and flick my gaze his way. I can feel the way one eyebrow slopes, confusion flashing in my eyes. “What–?”

“Dude, I’m kidding.”

The air feels trapped in my chest for an eternity before I finally let it escape.

“Damn,” he laughs. “No, we were out here and then you were pretty done so we went inside. I pointed you to that room and then I crashed in my own room.”

A soft laugh of relief escapes me and I ease back in the chair. I hesitate because it doesn’t seem too far off that I would have kissed him. The thought had floated through my mind since I sat in my apartment contemplating his penthouse key. 

“Well.” I let a warm sip of strong coffee work to reconnect parts of my brain. It settles the unease in the pit of my chest and helps bring me back to life. “Regardless. I had fun, man.”

“Me too. It’s been a long time since I had a night like that.”

“Hey the night before, you had a pool party with a bunch of half naked twenty year olds, so last night was probably pretty boring for you.”

“I told you, Officer, that wasn’t my party.”

A smirk tugs at my cheek. “Whatever.”

“And I’ve never had a boring night with you,” he reminds me.

I think back to the nights I spent with him when I was undercover, the near-O.D., the retribution in the back of some shady bar that he brought me along for, the night at his uncle’s club where I almost got thrown into the back of an Escalade and offed for good. But none of that was genuine. I was on the job.

I nod, sniffing a laugh over the rim of my mug. “You’re right about that.”

“But last night was actually  _you_ , so. I’d say it was my favorite.”

“It definitely was.”

He lazily stretches back, then pushes up his glasses before scratching fingers through his mess of curls. “So what’s a day in the life of Officer Jamie Reagan? What are you up to today?”

“Well I’ll probably go home and sleep in the shower until my tour tonight. But on most days, I’m not hungover.”

“What are most days like?”

I shrug. “Work. Hit the gym. And then not much,” I admit. “I don’t know. Hang out at home.”

“You live by yourself?”

“Yeah.”

“You have family in the city?”

“My sister.” I nod. “Dad back in Bay Ridge–”

He recalls the time he was brought to my father’s house where I made an offer for his testimony. “Right.”

“I’ve got a brother in Staten Island.” 

He blinks this sort of far away look, nodding slowly, then glances out to the cityscape in front of us. 

“What have you got going on today?”

“I head back.” Then he leans over and picks up his phone off the table where he checks the time. “My flight leaves out of JFK at one.”

The reality of him leaving sinks through me. I don’t know why this heartsick tug exists in my chest but it does, even though I know leaving is his only option. What would we even do if he stayed in New York anyway?

“Back to the Nick Salcedo life,” he sighs. 

A sad half smile curves on my face and I sip from my coffee again. “I’ll have to come down and hang with Nick some time.”

“You should. You like Cuban food?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I know the best places.”

“Of course you do.”

“You’ve got the beach, palm trees, it’s beautiful. All the houses look like Easter eggs. I recommend it.”

I nod thoughtfully. “I hear the landscapers are cute down there.”

He blows out this laugh, caught off guard and the smile on his face as he shakes his head charms me. “God, you’re a jerk. Don’t do that to me.”

“Do what?” I tease a knowing glance his way. It’s cruel and unexplored territory for both of us, but it felt good to flirt with him. Like a sweet torture I would pay for later.

“Make me… regret everything more than I already do,” he says. 

I wonder if I had regrets. If I’d never agreed to be a part of that undercover, I wouldn’t have gotten in so deep to begin with. “I know,” I murmur. “I don’t want you to have regrets.”

“I know the other night you said we weren’t friends, but. Maybe we can be.”

I look over him and offer a slight nod. “You’d have to give me your number. Or you can just… keep showing up in New York and having loud parties and hope I come shut them down.”

He grins. “No, I want your phone number. And if Officer Reagan has to show up here again, I’d rather it be off duty.”

I run a hand over my jaw, across my lips that flick in amusement. “Yeah me too.”

* * *

  
After our coffees, Noble and I retreat inside. I need to get home and he needs to pack. I find my shirt from the night before, leave it unbuttoned over my t-shirt, then my shoes, my gun and the rest of my things I had laid on the dresser in the spare bedroom. 

Scanning the room one last time, I flip off the light and make my way back to the kitchen where Noble stands filling the dishwasher.

“Let me do that,” I offer. 

“No,” he simply decides and I shake my head, not even bothering to argue. 

I lean back against the opposite counter, crossing one ankle over the other while I watch him. “Next time then.”

He shuts off the sink and glances back over his shoulder. Reaching for the nearby dish towel, he dries his hands. “Alright, next time you do the dishes.”

A misbehaving smirk plays at my face. “You don’t get to be the only generous one.”

The hard exhale that he blows out makes me laugh and he cuts me this warning look. “Don’t.” One of his eyebrows jumps. “You already told me not to start shit last night, and look at you.”

“Yeah, well maybe I want to start something.” 

He narrows his gaze behind his glasses, then presses his lips together as he glances down and lifts the door of the dishwasher, closing it out of the way. Then he tosses the towel on the counter.

Turning to me, his listless approach takes all of two steps until he stands over me. The dip of his head draws my heavy gaze up before he touches his mouth to mine, the hard press of his palm on my side beneath my open shirt.

I meet his kiss, easy at first, settling back against the counter’s edge as one hand finds the solid curve of his arm. 

Slowly his lips slip from mine but remain right there with a tempting graze. That didn’t feel like enough, and I capture the kiss once more as my palm trails up and into his hair. 

The sensation prompts him to let go of a heavy breath, his hand skating a path to my back, urging me against him. 

This had been a vague possibility since I don’t know when. If I claimed I wasn’t attracted to him from the moment I first saw him, I’d be a liar. But it wasn’t as if I was overcome with some unrelenting lust for him. It was always this sort of subtle impulse I couldn’t shake.

But last night tipped over whatever that wavering impulse was, spilled the gasoline and struck the match. 

The teasing stroke of his tongue makes my grip tighten in his hair, earning the faint echo of a hum in his chest.

Slowly, his face tilts down, his nose brushing my cheek as his kiss falls away, leaving my pulse flickering in my bottom lip. 

“You’re not supposed to be a good kisser,” he murmurs, then his raspy voice softens to a whisper. “Fuck, I like you a lot. And I can’t.”

I watch his mouth. The slow rise and fall of his chest against mine leaves me unable to maneuver out of this connection I have with him. So I just stay there, manage a deep breath while I drag light fingertips along the back of his neck. 

“I know,” I tell him. “I can’t either.”

He offers a slight nod and lets the edge of his teeth slide across his bottom lip. He eases away, trailing his hands around to rest his palms against my chest before he clears his throat. “So we’re cool, right?”

My head drops as I exhale a soft laugh. “I don’t know what we are.” I look at him, taking a moment to calm my pounding heart. My lips twist in uncertainty and I tell him softly, “But I have to go. And you have to go.”

He just meets my gaze with this look that makes me want to fall back on his mouth. This would crush me later, I know it. But I try to stay present, not to disappear inside my own guilt. 

He presses off me, popping that invisible bubble around us when he takes a step back. “I have your number.”

“Use it, okay?”

“I will.” He nods, rocks between his feet and reaches out to smack a friendly pat against my cheek. “And you need to go shave, man. You look like you passed out on somebody’s balcony last night.”

I duck away, countering as I elbow check him in the chest. “Fine,” I laugh. “I’m out of here.” Hooking an arm around him, I bring him in for a hug. “And listen. Stay safe, alright?” I hold him for a beat, grasping the width of his solid back before I clap my hand there once.

“Alright,” he agrees, and it relieves me that he doesn’t attempt some indignant retort. “You too,” he adds, tightening strong arms around my back.

I tilt my chin down, pressing the tip of my nose, my mouth into his shoulder. “I mean it,” I mumble there before I release him. 

Noble trails behind me as I head to the door. I pull it open and he grasps the edge over my head to hold it while I show myself out. 

“Bye Jamie,” he says quietly.

I slide my hands in my pockets and I glance back at him once more. Before I come up with an excuse to stay a moment longer, I leave him with the flick of a smile at my cheek. The weight in my chest is heavy but for the first time in a while, a feeling deep there is provoked. And I know as I turn to head toward the elevator, that we definitely just started something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the first installment from this little universe! I hope you enjoyed. :)


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